For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. In good songs and bad. Larry Campbell and Teresa Williams have taken the latter to heart over 30 years of marriage and a musical partnership stretching out even longer.

Yet the world only got turned on to the explosive powers of their combined talents in 2015 with the release of an eponymous debut that melded Campbell’s New York upbringing with Williams’ Southern roots. Before that, he spent eight years on the road with Bob Dylan as the Nobel laureate’s master of strings while she sang with the likes of Mavis Staples and Emmylou Harris. Later the duo collaborated extensively with the late Levon Helm as touring members of his band and Campbell taking a leadership role in the writing and recording of Helm’s late-in-life landmark offerings (2007’s “Dirt Farmer” and 2009’s “Electric Dirt”) and acting as musical director for the group during the legendary Midnight Ramble concerts held on Saturday nights at Helm’s barn in Woodstock, N.Y.

Helm’s generous, “we’re all in this together” spirit infuses Campbell and Williams’ latest endeavor, “Contraband Love” (Red House Records), even featuring the former Band drummer’s hypnotic licks pulled from the vault on a swaying cover of Carl Perkins’ “Turn Around.”

Campbell and Williams remember their time with Helm — whether in the studio where, they agree, he never treated anyone like a hired gun and expected everyone to be present creatively, or at home simply sitting by the fire alongside his wife while the two couples traded tall tales — fondly.

“I was able to cherish every moment, ’cause you know he had like 20 lives he had burned through,” Williams says. “You kind of knew it was precarious, and how long could this last because how long could he last?”

“I have to say, there is a piece of that that gets inside you and you just take it with you and we do,” Campbell adds. “When we get up there and perform now … it feels like we’re back in that barn and we’re just having a good time making music.”

On the phone from a hotel room in Boulder, Colo., during a day off from touring with Shawn Colvin on a 20th-anniversary run celebrating her Grammy-winning “A Few Small Repairs” album, the couple regularly finishes each other’s sentences and easily falls into fits of laughter — Williams’ lilting cackle often drowning out Campbell’s austere chuckle when a productive cough brought on by a bout of the flu doesn’t do the job for her.

The electric rapport between them makes it easy to understand why — even though Campbell had to pinch himself, thinking, “Man, this is a pretty good life,” while standing onstage in front of a huge audience playing an iconic song like “Blowin’ in the Wind” next to the icon who birthed it — he departed from the traveling circus that is Dylan’s “Never Ending Tour.”

“Playing with Bob was great. It was a great experience. I’m glad I did it. But there was really something missing there. I was gone from Teresa most of the time,” he explains. “What we’re doing now, to me, is sort of a complete picture. We’re playing music that we create (and) we’re doing it together. In many ways, it’s an ideal place to be at this point in our careers.”

Their sunny mood masks the tumult coursing through the album, informed by Campbell’s struggle with heroin addiction in his early teens and witnessing, in recent years, close friends deal with their own or their children’s battles with drugs.

Punctuated by Campbell’s cutting guitar and snapping drums from engineer Justin Guip, the grimy blues number “Three Days in a Row” recalls a scenario of withdrawal Campbell underwent in high school. “It’s what I remember my brain doing — just this sort of frozen wasteland that I felt I had to get myself through before I’d get to the other side, and the fear of not being able to make it,” he says.

Or the waltzing title track, delivered with Williams’ superhero ability to balance lip-trembling vulnerability with a backbone of steel, which speaks to the relentless drive families touched by addiction need to maintain.

“You do everything you can do and when that’s not working you just wait for them to find their way out of this, but be there for them. It’s a hell of a thing. I think about all the stuff I put my parents through and they were still there for me,” Campbell explains. “And that’s where the contraband comes in. You have to force or sneak this love into that person’s life. And boy, what a challenge that is.”

Charged with interpreting her husband’s lyrics, Williams often finds the “why or when” of his stories hard to stomach, particularly after a big argument. “I know that he tries to tell me that they’re about other people and I’m not buying it,” she says before both dissolve into giggles. “I can pretty well tell what applies to what.”

Williams finds “Contraband Love” and, “if you want the nitty-gritty,” “Save Me From Myself” especially difficult. A piano-driven ballad that showcases how Campbell’s gruff vocals buoy Williams’ golden tones, the song exposes the self-sabotage one partner can inflict on a relationship.

“Sometimes I think, ‘This is the height of (a) fight that you’re making me sing this every single night,’ and some nights I think, ‘I’m never singing that again ever.’ Seriously! I go through this stuff. I’m not kidding,” she says. “But then most nights I just enjoy singing it, so how’s that for a walking paradox?”

Campbell readily admits he’s a late bloomer when it comes to songwriting, but in his quest to “dig deeper” to find things to write about that he felt were worth saying, he inadvertently dredged up issues surrounding his addiction he failed to address up to this point at age 62.

“I’ve never been in love with words the way I am in love with music, and I think you really have to love words to be able to flow as a lyricist, and therefore it’s a much more laborious process for me,” Campbell says. “I do it because the alternative is not doing it, and for some reason for me that’s not acceptable.”

Coming to the aid of listeners seems like the best reason of all.

“At my worst moments, it’s always been music that helps me get through it. And either music that literally pertains to what I’m going through or music that makes me feel something that alleviates what I’m going through,” he says. “If we can do this for somebody, then that’s mission accomplished as far as I’m concerned.”